A Young Girl’s Rural Summer

The screen door thumped softly as the last box was carried inside, and the smell of sun-warmed wood filled the hallway. Mara stood with her toes on the cool floorboard, listening to the familiar country sounds start up outside - birds calling from somewhere behind the barn, a tractor far off that didn’t sound loud or angry, and the steady drip from a gutter that clinked every few seconds. Her mom’s voice floated from the kitchen, bright with effort. “Shoes by the mat, please. We’ll get you settled.”

Mara hugged the strap of her small backpack and looked at the farmhouse like it was a puzzle already waiting for her. The walls were painted a creamy white that made the windows look extra shiny. On the front table sat a bowl of apples with a few freckles of brown spots, and beside it a folded quilt with tiny stitched flowers. Everything felt used and loved, not new and strange. She could almost hear someone’s footsteps in the hallway, even though she didn’t know whose they were.

“Hi,” Mara called, because that’s what she did when she wasn’t sure where to put her voice.

From the doorway to the yard, a woman in a blue apron answered, wiping her hands on a towel. “You must be Mara. I’m Mrs. Keene. Your room is upstairs, and the bathroom is at the end of the hall. You’ll hear the creek sometimes when the wind is right.” She smiled and added, “It’s a good sound to fall asleep to.”

Mara nodded even though her stomach felt a little fluttery, like a butterfly trying to find a way out of her shirt. “Thank you,” she said, and then she pointed at the boxes. “Where do those go?”

Mrs. Keene made a thoughtful face, then laughed gently. “Which one do you think needs to be close to your room?”

Mara chose a box with her name written in neat letters on the side. When she lifted the top flap, she saw her pajamas, a small nightlight, and her favorite book with a cracked spine. The soft paper smell rose up, and her shoulders loosened. “This one,” she said, pleased that she’d guessed right.

Mrs. Keene guided her up the stairs. The steps creaked in a friendly way, like they were talking to her. Mara ran her fingers along the banister - smooth where lots of hands had touched it - and listened to the quiet hum of the house settling around them.

In the bedroom, a window looked out over the yard. Mara could see a line of tall corn swaying in the breeze and the shadowy shape of the apple tree behind the fence. Her bedspread was folded neatly at the foot of the mattress, and her desk sat by the window with a pencil cup already waiting. She set her book on the desk and touched the nightlight switch once, just to hear the click. Warm light spilled across the wall.

“Okay,” Mara whispered to herself. “I can do this.”

Later, after her mom unpacked the last things into the kitchen cabinets and Mrs. Keene showed her where extra towels lived, Mara felt brave enough to explore. She stepped outside with a light jacket even though the air was warm. The yard smelled like grass and soil, with a sweet edge from something flowering near the fence. Gravel crunched under her sneakers as she walked slowly, letting the sounds guide her: buzzing bees near the clover, a distant rooster that wasn’t too close, and the gentle scrape of a rake leaning by the shed.

Then Mara frowned. She reached into her pocket for her hair ribbons - thin strips she used to keep her hair out of her face when she played - and her fingers found only lint.

“My ribbons…” she said, voice smaller than she meant it to be.

Mrs. Keene, carrying a basket of laundry, paused on the back step. “What is it, honey?”

“I - ” Mara held up her empty pocket like it could explain. “I had my ribbons. I put them in my backpack, and now they’re gone.”

Mrs. Keene’s face stayed kind. “Did you bring your backpack to your room?”

“Yes,” Mara said quickly. “I opened it. I got my pajamas. I even turned on the nightlight.”

“All right.” Mrs. Keene set the basket down carefully and wiped her hands again. “Let’s not worry yet. Sometimes things roll into the wrong place. Where do you remember last seeing them?”

Mara tried to picture the moment. She remembered sitting on the bed, the book in her lap, the window light on her knees. “I think…” She moved her hands like she was tracing a picture in the air. “I might have taken them out when I was putting my hair up. Maybe they fell when I stood up.”

Mrs. Keene nodded. “That’s a good guess. We’ll look where you stood.”

Mara felt a little embarrassed, like losing something meant she wasn’t paying attention. But Mrs. Keene didn’t make her feel worse. She only made the yard feel calmer, like they were on the same team.

They started upstairs. Mara checked the pocket of her backpack first, then the bedspread, then the space under the desk where the wood was slightly dusty. The floorboards creaked as she knelt and leaned close, smelling the faint scent of soap from the towels that had been washed earlier. Nothing.

“That’s okay,” Mrs....